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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24359608">a garden of thorns</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb'>kinneyb</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:49:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,612</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24359608</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Have you tried?” he asked. “Playing, I mean.”</p>
<p>Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “Of course I have. So far they’ve been right; my fingers can’t move the way they used to.” He looked away again. Reaching out for one of the roses, he picked it. Geralt smelled blood in the air; the thorns piercing his skin. “Do you remember what I said once?” he asked quietly. “If I could no longer play, I said I would grow roses. Well,” he turned back to him, offering the rose, “here I am.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>415</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a garden of thorns</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>one word: bittersweet</p>
<p>twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt wasn’t worried, not for a while. He often parted ways with Jaskier and didn’t see him again for months. Once, even a year and a half (though he preferred not going that long, especially knowing the kind of trouble Jaskier could get in).</p>
<p>But when he realized, suddenly, one day that he hadn’t seen Jaskier in almost two years, he was—</p>
<p>Worried. <em>Terrified</em>. He had always known that Jaskier was human and that humans died, much sooner than witchers, but he hadn’t been prepared for it, not fully.</p>
<p>Why else would he have stayed away for so long though?</p>
<p>Geralt had another realization soon after: he hadn’t heard any new ballads from Jaskier on his travels across the Continent. He heard <em>new </em>songs, yes, and often Jaskier’s songs were played by other bards, whether credited or not.</p>
<p>But he could tell Jaskier’s writing from others. That left two possibilities:</p>
<p>He hadn’t written a new song in almost <em>two years</em> or—</p>
<p>He <em>had</em>, but they simply weren’t being played or shared the way they used to be.</p>
<p>Geralt knew Jaskier would never go two years without writing and sharing a new song if he could help it. Writing, performing, playing—it was like air to him.</p>
<p>That just made him more worried as he mounted Roach that morning without breakfast and took off.</p>
<p>If he wasn’t constructing new songs, he was probably dead. If he was dead, Geralt—well, he wouldn’t know <em>what </em>to do. He had told Jaskier, decades ago, that he would always protect him. But there had been an unspoken catch: he could only protect him when they were traveling together. He couldn’t do anything when they were parted, on separate sides of the Continent.</p>
<p><em>I should’ve never left him, </em>he thought, suddenly angry at himself.</p>
<p>Jaskier had looked at him oddly when they parted ways last, like he had something he wanted to say. Geralt had waited patiently, but the words never came. Instead Jaskier had hugged him and said, “I’ll see you soon, Geralt.”</p>
<p>Two years was not <em>soon</em>.</p>
<p>Geralt knew where Jaskier liked to stay, typically, and he went to those places first, like Oxenfurt.</p>
<p>But when he asked around all the students and professors said they hadn’t seen Jaskier in almost a year. That was still an improvement from his two full years without seeing the bard though, and so he didn’t give up so easily.</p>
<p>He stayed a few nights in Oxenfurt, collecting as much information as he could, though most of the information was uncomfortably specific while also not being much help at all.</p>
<p>Like the woman who had approached him in one of the local taverns as he waited for food and said she had slept with Jaskier, but he hadn’t been able to get it up. That had been shocking information, certainly, but not helpful to his current whereabouts at all.</p>
<p>It did have Geralt thinking while he ate supper though: when had Jaskier, the whore, <em>ever </em>had trouble getting it up?</p>
<p>Never, from his memory.</p>
<p>Then he was approached again but not by a woman or one of the old Oxenfurt professors.</p>
<p>It was a gentleman, not too young and not too old, with light hair and wrinkles around his mouth from a long life of smiling. Geralt eyed him skeptically as he slid into the chair across from him.</p>
<p>“You’re looking for Julian?”</p>
<p>It took Geralt a moment to answer, “Yes.” He sometimes forgot Jaskier wasn’t his only name.</p>
<p>The man leaned forward, elbows on the table. “He said he was headed to the coast.” He stared at Geralt like he was judging him—for what, he didn’t know. Finally he smiled, just a little. “Said he had been itching to visit for quite some time.”</p>
<p>Geralt sat up a little straighter. That was the first bit of helpful information he’d gotten yet.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” he asked, though he thought vividly of that time—years ago—on the mountain. Jaskier always <em>had </em>had a thing for the water, and had always talked about visiting, maybe even settling down near the coast when he was older.</p>
<p>Geralt wondered if he had done that—settled down—without his knowledge. He wouldn’t be upset; he knew humans were feeble. If Jaskier thought it was time, he would respect that, though admittedly he had seemed in perfect health last time they had traveled together. A lot could change though in two years, especially for humans.</p>
<p>“Positive,” the man replied, leaning back in his chair. He smiled, but there was something unnerving about it. He no longer looked so friendly or welcoming. “You’re Geralt—of Rivia, right?”</p>
<p>He debated lying, just to avoid trouble, but ultimately admitted the truth, “I am.”</p>
<p>“He spoke of you,” he continued, looking away and idly tapping the table with his fingers, “during our short-lived romance.”</p>
<p>Geralt blinked, not expecting that. Jaskier was a whore, a self-proclaimed one, but he had never mentioned sleeping with a man during their travels or even late night drunk conversations. Geralt was not judging, of course—he personally liked the company of both men and women—but he was a bit curious why Jaskier had never mentioned it.</p>
<p>“He did,” he asked finally, flatly. It was hardly even a question. For some reason he felt like he was walking a thin line—between what, he wasn’t sure.</p>
<p>His uneasiness only grew when the man smiled, too big. “He spoke of you <em>very </em>highly,” he said, looking him up and down. “Geralt of Rivia, in the flesh.” He tilted his head, eyes flashing with something that made Geralt’s stomach coil, and not in any good way. “Do you know why he was able to get it up for me, and not that whore you talked to before?”</p>
<p>Geralt frowned, “Watch yourself.”</p>
<p>He put his hands in the air. “Sorry, sorry.” But he didn’t sound sorry at all. He smiled again, sickeningly sweet. “Look at you,” he said, “and then look at me.”</p>
<p>Geralt didn’t understand for a few long seconds until suddenly he did. The man had long and light hair, so blond it was almost white, and pale skin, a neck littered in scars. His eyes weren’t a match—no human naturally had yellow eyes—but everything else was suspiciously similar.</p>
<p>He couldn’t believe it—that Jaskier had fucked this man because he looked like <em>him</em>.</p>
<p>“Hmm,” the man said, starting to stand up. “I begged him to stay. With me, I mean, but he had no interest. He said he was going to find you—that it had been too long.”</p>
<p>Geralt nodded slowly. “And he thought he would find me at the coast?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” The man shrugged. “I’m just telling you what he said.”</p>
<p>Then—without waiting for a reply—he turned and left the tavern. Geralt sat there long after his food had gone cold, thinking about the information he had just been given, all of it. Did Jaskier have feelings for him, <em>beyond </em>that of friendship?</p>
<p>Geralt wasn’t shocked, not as much as he could’ve been, because he had always—well, he had always assumed that was a possibility. Jaskier wasn’t exactly discreet.</p>
<p>The way his eyes lingered on Geralt when they bathed together,</p>
<p>Or how he massaged his aching muscles after a long fight without complaint,</p>
<p>Or the many times he had jumped in front of Geralt to protect him.</p>
<p>Geralt had just gotten confirmation of something he had always suspected. He shouldn’t have been shocked. Shaking his head, he stood up and paid for the food before trudging back to the inn. He didn’t even realize he was smiling until he passed a cracked mirror in the hallway, smudged with fingerprints.</p>
<p>“What are <em>you </em>smiling at?” he muttered to himself as he walked to the bed and crawled under the scratchy wool blanket.</p>
<p>At least he finally had a plan. To the coast.</p>
<p>In the morning, he packed up and rode out of Oxenfurt on Roach. The coast was a few days away but a straight shot if he just kept north.</p>
<p>Geralt smelled the early morning air, brushing a hand through Roach’s mane. He remembered, suddenly and vividly, the summer Jaskier had braided Roach’s hair, years go. He had laughed wildly when Geralt returned and dropped firewood at his feet.</p>
<p>“Jaskier,” he had said. “<em>What </em>did you do?”</p>
<p>Jaskier had beamed at him, “Don’t be jealous. I can braid your hair too.”</p>
<p>Yennefer knew of that story—he had told her, though he had pointedly kept out the part where he actually sat down, after staring the fire, and let Jaskier do it. It had been nice; the feel of Jaskier’s fingers combing through his hair.</p>
<p>“He has to be okay,” he spoke without even thinking.</p>
<p>Roach snorted, the only reply he would get. Geralt shook his head and they continued on.</p>
<p>There was a problem. The coast was <em>huge</em>, spanning for miles and miles. But he didn’t give up, of course. He visited town after town along the coast, looking for any sign of the bard, a familiar mop of brown hair or bright blue eyes.</p>
<p>But there was nothing.</p>
<p>Geralt asked townsfolk if they had seen him, but still nothing. Until—he stumbled across an elderly woman, sitting quietly. He assumed she was blind by the blank look in her eyes, but that was quickly debunked as she turned to look at him.</p>
<p>“The man you speak of,” she said in a crackly voice. “He lives in a cottage far, far down the coast.”</p>
<p>Geralt wondered how she had even heard him. Maybe he wasn’t the only one with good hearing. “Why?” he asked if he expected her to have the answer.</p>
<p>She just shook her head, looking away again. When she didn’t say anything else, he climbed back on Roach and turned her around. With a flick of his wrist, reins snapping, she took off.</p>
<p>The old woman wasn’t lying; Geralt traveled until he had to stop, taking a short break, before he continued on. Finally he saw what looked like a quaint cottage, all by itself. Geralt squinted; it wasn’t too close to the coast, but he could see the sea as he approached, blue and sparkling.</p>
<p>The cottage was a dull brown and there was a small garden in the back. None of this made sense.</p>
<p>He climbed off Roach and pulled her along. There was no one outside the cottage but there <em>was </em>a wicker chair in the lawn that looked well-used. “Jaskier?” he called as he approached, turning toward Roach. “Stay,” he commanded before he continued on his own. The door was the same color as the rest of the cottage. He knocked once.</p>
<p>Geralt was starting to think he had been tricked, or the old lady had simply been mistaken, when finally the door opened and—</p>
<p>“<em>Jaskier</em>,” he said, more overwhelmed than he’d been expecting, eyes stinging. He had been so scared he was dead, and he wasn’t. He was here, right in front of him. He looked a little worse for wear, dark circles under his eyes, new wrinkles, but he was <em>alive</em>.</p>
<p>He blinked, eyes widening. “Geralt, wh—what are—” His eyes flickered to Roach. “How did you find me?”</p>
<p>Geralt didn’t even catch the accusatory tone of his voice or the nervous tremble. He was still reeling from finding him. “You’re okay,” he said, stepping forward and throwing his arms around him. He was skinnier than he remembered, arms wrapping easily around his body. “I thought you were <em>dead</em>, Jaskier,” he said, a little too raw.</p>
<p>Jaskier was stiff; he didn’t push him away but he also didn’t return the hug. Frowning, Geralt pulled back, still gripping his shoulders.</p>
<p>“Were—did you not <em>want </em>to be found?” he asked, finally connecting the dots. But he didn’t understand; they were friends. No, apparently, based on his new knowledge, Jaskier liked him like <em>that</em>. Why would he hide? Was he scared of him finding out? His reaction?</p>
<p>Jaskier looked away, jaw clenching. “Just—tie her up,” he said, pointing at Roach, “and come in, will you?”</p>
<p>A few minutes later and they were both sitting at a table. It had been a while—decades—since he had felt so tense around the other man. He had accepted his companionship long ago, and even enjoyed it now (though he had never admitted that in so many words).</p>
<p>But now he felt like they were meeting again for the first time <em>except</em>—</p>
<p>The roles were reversed. Jaskier <em>was </em>the moping around, unable to meet his eyes, mouth quirked in what looked like a permanent frown. There were new wrinkles around his eyes, his mouth. A natural part of being human was aging and yet he still felt his stomach churn at the sight. Jaskier wasn’t just a random human; he was his <em>friend</em>.</p>
<p>Geralt had never been a big fan of tea but Jaskier had prepared him a cup and—now—he took a sip, welcoming the burn.</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t have come here,” Jaskier said finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He had always been good at doing that.</p>
<p>Geralt placed his cup back on the table with a soft <em>clank</em>. “I was—” He hesitated for a moment, clearing his throat. No point in hiding the truth. They were beyond that. “I was worried,” he continued. “I hadn’t seen you in <em>two years,</em> Jaskier.”</p>
<p>Jaskier still didn’t look at him, just stared off to the side, eyes glassy. “And did you stop to think there was a reason for that?”</p>
<p>And <em>that</em>—well, an arrow through the heart would’ve been less painful. Geralt swallowed thickly. “I don’t understand,” he said, forcing his voice to be perfectly even. He curled his hands into fists in his lap. “Did I do something?”</p>
<p>He tried to remember their last interaction. They had parted on good terms, or so he had thought. Jaskier had been his usual self, smiling brightly and waving enthusiastically as they walked off in different directions.</p>
<p>Geralt had never thought he wouldn’t see him again for <em>two </em>years. Or that Jaskier would ever avoid him.</p>
<p>“No,” Jaskier replied sharply, and he sounded genuine. But he still wouldn’t look at him, mouth a thin line. He looked like a ghost of himself. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “It wasn’t—you didn’t do anything,” he continued. “I just needed to be alone for a while.”</p>
<p>Geralt couldn’t rightfully condemn that. He understood that feeling all too well, but—“For two years?”</p>
<p>Jaskier suddenly slammed a hand down on the table, shaking their cups. Tea splashed over the edge of his cup. He just watched as the liquid slid across the smooth surface. “You don’t <em>understand!”</em> he exclaimed, quickly yanking his hand back and taking a shaky breath. “You should go,” he continued, quieter.</p>
<p>Maybe, once upon a time, he would’ve respect his wishes. But not now.</p>
<p>“I’m staying,” he said. Jaskier was silent. “Somehow in town, at the very least.”</p>
<p>Jaskier slid his chair back and stood up. “There’s an extra bedroom,” he said without looking at him. “You can use it for the night. But—we’re discussing this more in the morning.”</p>
<p>Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left the small kitchen. Geralt sighed and stared at the spilled tea, stomach churning. What had happened over the last two years? He had never seen Jaskier like <em>that</em>, not even in his worst moments.</p>
<p>If someone <em>did </em>something to him…</p>
<p>Geralt growled, scrubbing both hands down his face.</p>
<p>He found the bedroom on his own. It was small and dusty, obviously used for storage and not company. Geralt sat on the bed and looked around; there was a decent amount of boxes stacked in the room. How long had Jaskier been staying here?</p>
<p>That was when he noticed it: Jaskier’s lute, the wood etched with dandelions, abandoned in a corner of the room. But surely it wasn’t actually <em>abandoned</em>. Standing up, he walked over and picked up the lute. It was covered in dust, obviously having not been touched in a long time.</p>
<p>To say he was concerned would be an <em>understatement</em>.</p>
<p>But the conversation would have to be saved for the morning. Gently placing the lute back down, he walked over to the bed and quickly fell asleep after a long day of traveling.</p>
<p>In the morning, he climbed out of bed and walked to the kitchen. Jaskier was already at the table, a bowl of apple slices in front of him. Geralt wondered why as he didn’t seem very interested in eating them.</p>
<p>He slid into the chair across from him, stomach churning. He had never been very good with words, and unfortunately this morning would probably be no exception. But he had to try. “Jaskier,” he said gruffly. “I saw your lute.”</p>
<p>Jaskier frowned, looking up. “Okay?”</p>
<p>Geralt blinked at him. “Okay?” he repeated in disbelief. “That thing hasn’t been touched in—<em>ages</em>.”</p>
<p>“Do you think I’m not aware of that fact?” he shot back.</p>
<p>Which—fair enough, he supposed. Leaning forward, he tried to keep his voice as soft as possible, which wasn’t an easy task for him, “Did something happen while we were parted?”</p>
<p>Jaskier took a deep breath. A mix of complicated emotions flashed across his face. Suddenly he stood up, pushing his chair back. “Follow me,” he said. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out of the kitchen.</p>
<p>Geralt jumped up, following him. He led him out of the cottage and around the back. The garden he had seen—only briefly—the day before was just as small as he had thought. The garden was brimming with flowers, mostly roses.</p>
<p>There were no fruits or vegetables in sight. Jaskier approached one of the rose bushes and crouched down. “Come here.”</p>
<p>Stiff, he walked over and crouched next to him. Jaskier reached out, fingertips dangerously close to the thorns. Geralt grabbed his wrist before he could touch them, mouth twisting. “What are you doing?”</p>
<p>Jaskier just stared blankly ahead, silent. Geralt’s eyes flickered to the roses, hoping he would find some kind of answer and he <em>did</em>—just not in the roses. His eyes were drawn to the scar—shaped almost like a lightning bolt—stretching across Jaskier’s knuckles.</p>
<p>He knew he hadn’t had it, before. “Jaskier,” he said, lightly squeezing his wrist. “What happened?”</p>
<p>Jaskier ripped his hand away. “Does that really matter?”</p>
<p>Geralt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was only one answer, one truth. “<em>Yes</em>,” he answered instantly.</p>
<p>He watched, as patiently as he could, as Jaskier suddenly flopped back, sitting in the dirt. Geralt hesitated for a second before joining him. He could smell the roses all around them. Jaskier stared at the scar.</p>
<p>“I was attacked,” he said finally, just loud enough for him to hear.</p>
<p>Geralt’s first instinct was to blame himself, both because he assumed he was attacked because of <em>him</em>—and his reputation, so tarnished that even Jaskier’s many ballads never succeeded in fully wiping it away—<em>and </em>because he wasn’t there to protect him.</p>
<p>But, as if reading his mind, Jaskier turned to look at him, “And not because of you. I have plenty of my <em>own </em>enemies.”</p>
<p>Geralt just nodded stiffly. Jaskier looked away again and sighed, squinting at the sky. He looked older, yes, and tired beyond his years, but in a lot of ways he was <em>still </em>the bard he had met all those years ago, with the same brown hair that fell loose around his ears and the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen. That would never change.</p>
<p>“They knew me well enough to know what to target,” he continued, quieter, smiling ruefully at the sun. “They held me down by the wrists. Kept—well.” Jaskier shrugged sharply. “You get the gist. Some of my fingers were broken. I could barely even look at my hands without nearly puking.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s own fingers suddenly throbbed, feeling for him. “But you’re using your hands again,” he said after a while. “You’re—<em>better</em>.” He paused briefly. “Right?”</p>
<p>There was a long pause. The silence was deafening.</p>
<p>“I’ll never play again, Geralt,” he said finally and the words were like a knife to his heart, twisting painfully. He could only imagine the pain Jaskier had felt, and the pain he <em>still </em>felt, eyes glassy as he forced a smile. “And before you ask—yes, I visited many doctors and healers. They all said the same thing. My hands healed, but I’ll never be able to use them the way I did before.”</p>
<p>Geralt didn’t know what to say. “Maybe Yennefer—”</p>
<p>“I visited her as well,” he interrupted, and that was news to him. He had visited Yennefer a few months ago but she hadn’t mentioned anything about Jaskier. As if reading his mind—again—Jaskier looked at him. “I asked her not to say anything. Guess she actually followed through. I’ll have to send my thanks.”</p>
<p>Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Have you tried?” he asked. “Playing, I mean.”</p>
<p>Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “Of course I have. So far they’ve been right; my fingers can’t move the way they used to.” He looked away again. Reaching out for one of the roses, he picked it. Geralt smelled blood in the air; the thorns piercing his skin. “Do you remember what I said once?” he asked quietly. “If I could no longer play, I said I would grow roses. Well,” he turned back to him, offering the rose, “here I am.”</p>
<p>His stomach was cold and hard as he took the flower. “Jaskier, I’m—”</p>
<p>“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he interrupted with that same forced smile. “I’m tired of hearing that, and it’s not like I’m <em>dying</em>.” He sighed softly. “I’m just having to learn how to live again.”</p>
<p>Geralt stared at the flower; it was beautiful, and healthy, a strong stem with bright petals. He expected no less from Jaskier. “You could still join me,” he said suddenly, looking up. He wasn’t just offering out of pity, of course. He didn’t do that kind of thing. He genuinely had missed Jaskier, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t still be useful, even with his hands as they were.</p>
<p>He wasn’t sure what kind of response he was expecting but it wasn’t Jaskier’s sad laugh.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t even be capable of earning my own keep,” he said once the laughter had subsided, smiling ruefully. “It’s—it’s better if I stay here.” He swallowed audibly, throat bobbing. “Out of the way.”</p>
<p>Geralt reached forward, barely thinking, and grabbed his wrist. “That’s not true,” he said tersely.</p>
<p>Jaskier looked at him with that same sad smile. Geralt’s stomach churned at the sight; he had seen Jaskier upset many times over the decades, but rarely like this. He was always so full of energy and jokes and laughter. But now his eyes were empty, staring at him blankly.</p>
<p>“You dropped the flower,” he whispered, an unexpected reply. Geralt blinked owlishly before glancing down at the fallen flower between them.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” he said, releasing his wrist and sitting back.</p>
<p>They were silent for a few long minutes. This far from the town Geralt couldn’t really much of anything beyond the gentle crashing of the waves. Finally Jaskier sighed, standing up. He dusted off his trousers. Geralt followed him, knees cracking.</p>
<p>“You could stay for a few days, if you want,” Jaskier said, turning toward him and plastering on a fake smile. “Recharge before you head back out.”</p>
<p>Geralt had gotten well at reading Jaskier over the years. Perhaps he was the one person he <em>could </em>read, having spent so much time with him. He knew it wasn’t an empty offer, or even an offer for <em>him</em>, really. <em>Jaskier </em>wanted to him stay, because at his core he would always be a people person and he was undoubtedly very lonely here.</p>
<p>But he was nervous, corner of his mouth twitching, like he expected to be turned down.</p>
<p>Geralt smiled, small but sincere. “I would like that.”</p>
<p>Days later, Jaskier stood in the doorway of his room. “I’m going to town,” he said tersely. Geralt looked up from sharpening his swords; might as well spend the time doing something useful, he had thought, before feeling an unexpected twinge of guilt. He set his sword aside as Jaskier shifted on his feet, eyes darting around the room. “Gods, this place is a mess.”</p>
<p>“Hmm,” Geralt replied as he stood up, stretching. He couldn’t rightfully argue that; it was still full of boxes, and there was a thick layer of dust on almost every surface.</p>
<p>Jaskier’s mouth twisted oddly. “Did you need anything?”</p>
<p>“What?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “I’m going with you. Obviously.”</p>
<p>Jaskier looked surprised at that, but only briefly. Nodding, he turned away. “Well, come on. It’ll be a faster travel with Roach.”</p>
<p>The streets were rowdy and crowded, both climbing off Roach as they neared the market. Jaskier walked to a stall selling fruit and vegetables. He didn’t seem like he needed much help. Idly roaming the market, Geralt kept glancing back at him, feeling oddly protective and almost—<em>scared</em>. If he had been hurt once, his presence might be the only thing stopping it from happening again.</p>
<p>Once Jaskier was finished, he walked over. “I’m ready.”</p>
<p>Nodding, they both climbed back on Roach and headed for the cottage. It was long after lunch by the time they returned, and Jaskier poured the contents of his haul out on the table. Geralt’s nose twitched because he smelled—“Apples?”</p>
<p>Jaskier turned to look at him and for the first time he almost looked like himself again, smiling slyly. He picked up an apple and tossed it to him. “Did you think I forgot your unhealthy obsession with apples?”</p>
<p>“It’s not—” he started before shaking his head. “I just like them,” he muttered, staring down at the shiny red fruit. His stomach churned, again, but it was different from before. Almost a good feeling.</p>
<p>Jaskier winked, and that also reminded him of the bard he had first met, lively and even flirty. Not to Geralt, in particular, just—<em>everyone</em>, men and women alike.</p>
<p>But just one blink and his eyes were blank again, looking away and sighing heavily. “I’ll make supper,” he said simply, and that was the end of that.</p>
<p>Geralt hesitated for a while in the small kitchen, hoping Jaskier would look at him again with that sly smile, eyes sparkling. But he didn’t, and eventually he just left. Even he could tell when he wasn’t wanted. He returned to the dusty room and sat on the bed.</p>
<p>He couldn’t stay here forever and yet—he didn’t want to leave, not with Jaskier like this.</p>
<p>Shoulders slumping, he scrubbed at his face with his hands, rough and unforgiving to the skin. He had to help him, but he didn’t know <em>how</em>. Jaskier had always been the one with the answers. Jaskier had always been the one helping <em>him</em>, in small and big ways, sometimes without even knowing it. He had helped him—he had always <em>been </em>there for him—even when he didn’t deserve it.</p>
<p>Now it was his turn to do the same.</p>
<p>Jaskier fetched him for supper thirty or so minutes later, forcing that fake smile again. In the kitchen, they sat around the small table and Geralt watched with a frown as Jaskier poked at his food. His eyes were drawn to his scar.</p>
<p>“I don’t have to leave,” he said suddenly.</p>
<p>Jaskier visibly startled, looking up. “What?” he asked, blinking. “What are you talking about?”</p>
<p>Geralt loudly cleared his throat. “I could stay,” he said. “Keep you company here. I’m sure I could find some jobs in—”</p>
<p>Again he wasn’t expecting the reaction he got: Jaskier stood up swiftly, knocking his chair back, hands slamming on the table with enough force to spill a bit of his drink. He glared down at him with fire in his eyes. “Why would you—” he started before biting his tongue. “<em>Fuck </em>you, Geralt,” he hissed before turning and storming out of the room.</p>
<p>He could hear his angry footsteps and then—finally—the slamming of a door and silence.</p>
<p>Geralt blinked. Once, twice. He stood up and gathered their dishes, putting them away to be washed later, before returning to his room.</p>
<p>He stopped outside Jaskier’s door for a split-second, debating if he should knock or not, before moving on. He had thought he had really grown to know the bard over the years, but now he wasn’t so sure of that. Of <em>anything</em>.</p>
<p>On his back, he stared at the ceiling and listened to the sound of waves.</p>
<p>He tried to decipher what had upset Jaskier, but he just couldn’t figure it out. Sighing, he closed his eyes.</p>
<p>Geralt wasn’t sure what time it was when he woke up sometime later. It was still dark out, but he assumed it had been a few hours as he stretched, bones cracking. It was then he realized what had roused him from sleep: the door to his room was open and Jaskier was standing in the door, arms folded over his chest in what looked like an almost-hug.</p>
<p>“Jaskier,” he said as he sat up, voice tinged with concern. “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>He seemed to startle before clearing his throat and entering the room properly. “Um. Can I?”</p>
<p>Geralt nodded without even knowing what he was asking. He didn’t care, frankly. Jaskier smiled tightly as he stepped closer and propped himself on the very edge of the bed, still hugging himself. He was turned away from him but he could still see the tense line of his jaw.</p>
<p>“I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that,” he said finally, breaking the silence.</p>
<p>Geralt frowned. “You don’t have to apologize.”</p>
<p>“Did you <em>hear </em>an apology?” he shot back, and Geralt blinked once before he realized Jaskier was smiling, just a small quirk of his mouth. Still a win in his books.</p>
<p>He smiled back, just as small. “You sound like Yen.”</p>
<p>Jaskier shrugged, looking away again. “Gods, say that again and I’ll kick you out.”</p>
<p>They were both silent. Geralt wanted to say something—the <em>right </em>thing, but he didn’t know what that was. He never had been good with words, and tonight had just proven that. Jaskier shifted on the bed, twisting in his direction.</p>
<p>His arms fell, jaw relaxing. “I’m fucking <em>terrified</em>, Geralt,” he said. His stomach churned at the sight of Jaskier’s eyes glistening, wet with the promise of tears. His hands twitched, wanting to reach for him, but unsure if that would be welcomed or not.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to be,” he said weakly.</p>
<p>Jaskier let out a sharp laugh, roughly wiping his eyes. He cleared his throat, trying to force it all back. Geralt wanted to tell him he didn’t have to but the words were stuck. “I have been <em>Jaskier,</em> the <em>bard,</em> for so long, Geralt. I—I don’t know <em>what </em>I am once—once you take that away from me.” He gestured wildly. “How would you feel if suddenly you were no longer a witcher? If you were suddenly just—just a <em>nobody</em>?</p>
<p>No longer able to hold back, he reached out and grabbed one of Jaskier’s hands. Jaskier startled at the touch before slowly relaxing.</p>
<p>“You aren’t <em>nobody</em>, Jaskier. You’re—you’re <em>you</em>, and that’s enough. With or without your lute.”</p>
<p>Geralt glanced at their hands. Slowly he stroked his thumb over Jaskier’s knuckles, over the faded scar. He was gentle, uncharacteristically so. Jaskier was silent, but Geralt didn’t think he was avoiding saying anything, just thinking.</p>
<p>“Sleep with me?” he asked finally.</p>
<p>Geralt swiftly lifted his head. “What?”</p>
<p>“The room—” he said, and at least he had the right of mind to look embarrassed, eyes darting around nervously. “I just—it’s dusty, and cramped. I thought—never mind.” He pulled his hand back, and Geralt desperately missed the touch.</p>
<p>He didn’t think too hard about why. “No, no, that sounds—nice,” he said. And it wasn’t like it’d be the first time; they had slept together, before, during the colder months when Jaskier’s teeth wouldn’t stop chattering and Geralt had been forced to push their bedrolls together, ignoring Jaskier’s protests of <em>I’m fine</em> and <em>Geralt, you really don’t have to.</em></p>
<p>He had always enjoyed those nights, maybe a little too much. But again he had a gift for not thinking too hard about stuff like that.</p>
<p>Stuff like that always ended in trouble, and Jaskier was too important for those types of risks.</p>
<p>“Maybe my nose will finally stop bothering me,” he lied breezily. His nose had been perfectly fine, even surrounded by the piles and piles of dust.</p>
<p>Jaskier didn’t look convinced but he also didn’t argue. Good enough.</p>
<p>He followed him to his bedroom, which he realized he hadn’t seen since arriving at the cottage. Jaskier opened the door and his nose twitched; the smell of <em>Jaskier </em>was strong, which wasn’t surprising, considering it was his room and he stayed in here whenever he wasn’t cooking or out at the garden.</p>
<p>Jaskier had always smelt like oak and honey, like expensive soap and nature.</p>
<p>Geralt didn’t even realize how much he’d been missing it; the same way he used to miss the smell of lilac and gooseberries. Jaskier walked into the room and lit one of a few candles by the bed before sitting.</p>
<p>He joined him a few seconds later. The bed was bigger than the one in the guest room, and the pillows were far less lumpy. Geralt’s eyes darted around the room. Hardly looked lived in, but there was at least a bookshelf full of collections of poems. Jaskier’s small mark.</p>
<p>He smiled a little.</p>
<p>“Geralt,” Jaskier said as he pushed back the covers, pointedly not looking at him. “I don’t want you to go, but I also can’t ask you to stay.”</p>
<p>He blinked, both expecting it and not expecting it at the same time. He had expected they would continue where they had left off, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon. He thought Jaskier would need a little longer. He could only hope he wouldn’t fuck it up again.</p>
<p>“Why not?” he asked, genuinely not understanding.</p>
<p>Jaskier turned to look at him; the soft glow of the candle made him look almost angelical. Geralt reached out again. He meant to grab his hand, really, but he ended up cupping the side of his neck, thumb gently brushing over his jaw.</p>
<p>If Jaskier seemed surprised, or unhappy, with the development, he didn’t show it. He just smiled sadly. “I know you don’t want to settle down. Now or ever. You told me, once, that witchers only stop hunting once they’re dead.” Jaskier leaned into his touch, eyelashes fluttering. Geralt’s stomach churned again; butterflies had evidently made their home in the pit of his stomach and weren’t leaving anytime soon. “I don’t want you here, miserable and twiddling your thumbs.”</p>
<p>Geralt pressed his lips together. “I could find jobs in the local towns.”</p>
<p>“But do you really want to be stuck here?” he asked softly. “Permanently? You won’t admit it but you’re <em>drawn </em>to adventure, always actively seeking it out, searching for the next quest.” His smile turned a little less sad. Geralt took it as the smell blessing it was. “I used to think it was a <em>witcher </em>thing, made sense, but I think it’s just a part of who you are, Geralt.”</p>
<p>He wanted to argue, deny it, but he couldn’t. Jaskier knew him too well. His thumb stilled on his jaw. “I’m not leaving,” he said instead, firm enough that Jaskier let out a defeated sigh, shoulders slumping.</p>
<p>“You are annoyingly stubborn.” Unlike earlier, there was only fondness in his voice.</p>
<p>He pinched out the candlewick and they shifted around, bed creaking quietly. Finally they settled, facing each other on their sides. Geralt didn’t know what they would do yet, but he did know one thing for certain: he was never abandoning Jaskier. Sighing, he closed his eyes.</p>
<p>When he opened his eyes again, the sun was shining brightly through the window, warm on his face. Groaning, he sat up and glanced over. The bed was empty next to him.</p>
<p>If he focused, he could hear Jaskier in the kitchen, walking around and humming softly. His heart squeezed almost painfully in his chest.</p>
<p>Climbing out of the bed, he walked out of the room and down the hall. Jaskier was just setting a plate down on the table when he entered the kitchen, full of apple and pear slices.</p>
<p>He looked up, smiling slightly. “Hungry?”</p>
<p>Geralt nodded wordlessly. Sitting with him, they ate for a bit in comfortable silence. Until—“You can still sing,” he said, like an idiot. Somehow he hadn't considered that. </p>
<p>Jaskier sighed, “I can.” He picked up an apple slice, eyeing it. “What, want me to sing to you?”</p>
<p>He suppressed a smile. Maybe later, he thought. “I’ve come to a decision,” he continued, looking up, swallowing the mush of chewed fruit in his mouth. Jaskier placed the slice back on the plate, shoulders tensing.</p>
<p>“You have?” he asked tersely.</p>
<p>Geralt reached across the table, placing his hand palm up. Jaskier stared at his hand for a few long seconds, mouth a thin line, before finally placing his hand in it. Geralt’s fingers curled, squeezing lightly. “I will leave before the end of the week,” he said, and he ignored the way Jaskier’s eyes darted away, looking hurt despite himself. “But I’ll be back for the winter.”</p>
<p>Jaskier stiffened, eyes returning to his face. “What?”</p>
<p>“You already know I normally settle for the winter,” he said. “It would be the same; just instead of Kaer Morhen, I would be staying here.”</p>
<p>Jaskier yanked his hand away. Geralt prepared for the worst—for him to storm out of the room, yelling and teary-eyed. But he didn’t. He just looked down. “That is your <em>home</em>, Geralt,” he said softly. “You can’t just—”</p>
<p>“I can,” he interrupted firmly, “and I will.”</p>
<p>Jaskier’s mouth twisted, a deep frown. “But—”</p>
<p>“But nothing,” he interrupted again, a little gentler. “I make my own decisions, Jaskier. I want to do this.”</p>
<p>Jaskier looked up, biting the inside of his cheek. “You do?”</p>
<p>“I do,” he confirmed, surprised by his own confidence. “I—” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. Being honest had never been easy for him, especially about stuff like this, but Jaskier deserved to hear the truth. “I don’t think I realized it, before, but—over the years, Jaskier, <em>you’ve </em>become my home,” he said, thick with quiet emotion. It was true; when he thought of where he felt safest, and happiest, and the most loved, it was with Jaskier. “The one constant I can always count on and go back to.” </p>
<p>Jaskier’s answering smile was worth it, eyes brightening.</p>
<p>A few days later, they stood on the beach to say their goodbyes. The tension was thick between them. Geralt didn’t want that, not when he knew he was returning. No matter what, he’d be back at the first sign of winter.</p>
<p>“Be safe,” Geralt said gruffly.</p>
<p>Jaskier smiled, small and a little shaky but sincere. “I should be the one saying that.”</p>
<p>Out of words, Geralt pulled him into a hug. Jaskier was stiff for a split-second, surprise more than anything, before quickly relaxing. He turned, burying his face in his shoulder. “I’ll be back,” he said. “I swear on my life.”</p>
<p>“I know,” he whispered. “I’ll be here.”</p>
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